Unnatural Things
by LaedieDuske
Summary: **COMPLETE** NO WIN-CEST! MATURE READERS ONLY! Dean W, Sam W and an Original Character - Yes throwing an OC into a beloved setting is dangerous territory. Give it a chance if you can. But this story won't leave me alone. WARNINGS: inside each chapter
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam or *whimper* Dean. I'd certainly take better care of them than the writers have, and their brotherly bond would certainly still be intact! With that in mind, this is obviously set before the whole "End Of The World Sam And Dean Hate Each Other" misery that's been dumped on fans who love the Winchesters. You can like it if you want, but you can like it in your OWN sandbox - my sandbox, I don't have to like it. :-)  
**

**WARNINGS!: **Mature readers only** Some language, blood, if you don't see a warning for it chances are you don't need one. *smug smile*  
**

I closed the curtains tight, blocking out the bright light of the motel vacancy sign. I knelt on the gritty carpet beside the bed so I could look him in the eye. He was on his side, curled into a tight ball trying to hold himself together against the devastating agony in his guts.

The curse was ripping him apart from the inside. I had no way of knowing for sure how many vital organs had been decimated so far. Judging by the puddle of blood forming under his face, too many. My heart skipped a beat, then raced painfully with fear.

"Dean," I spoke his name gently, suffocated by an irrational fear that if I spoke too loud or forcefully I would break him further somehow. I wanted to reach out, put my hand on his spiky dark red hair and try to comfort him somehow. The blood pooling under his chin where it was tucked tight to his chest scared me. The urge to scoop him up and protect him from the pain was overwhelming.

I knew for certain from my short time traveling with the brothers that the gesture would not be entirely welcome. Seeing him trembling in pain, gasping for air between breathless bouts of muscle and tendon straining to keep from screaming...broke something inside me.

I had to clamp down on my empathic talents as soon as the curse started to take hold, but I didn't need my extra-sensory abilities to feel the excruciating pain radiating off him.

"Dean!" A bit more forceful this time, trying to get him to focus on something else, if even for a moment. His eyelids opened and those beautiful green irises rolled up to look at me as he lifted his chin from his chest just a fraction of an inch.

"Stay with me Dean! Sam will find him, we will fix this. Just stay with me!" Sam had gone looking for the damn Voodoo priest who had cursed Dean, he would do whatever it took to get him to reveal how to break the curse. That should have worried me, but it didn't.

Dean's eyes held such unfathomable pain, I flinched and wanted desperately to look away. I couldn't though. I had to hold his gaze, let him know he was not alone. I was not his brother, but I was all he had in that moment. I hoped it was enough.

His eyes teared up, his jaw clenched tight as another wave of pain wracked his body. Our eyes stayed locked as his lips pulled back from his teeth, grimacing as his own body betrayed him. His forehead furrowed with the effort of not turning away. I could see in his eyes he was silently begging me for help, for relief, for...

Death.

I gasped and jerked first away from him in shock, then forward just as quickly to gather him up in my arms. One hand behind his head, gently massaging the back of his neck and jaw, trying to get him to release before he cracked his teeth. My other arm slid up and over his waist, my hand rubbing gentle circles on his back, my head pressed into his upthrust shoulder.

Personal space be damned. I could no longer sit back and watch him suffer this alone.

For the first time in what felt like hours one of his hands moved from where they had both been clenched into fists and pressed against his tortured chest and stomach. I felt it reach out hesitantly, as if it were a living thing unwilling to leave the familiarity of his quivering abdomen. I thought for one fleeting moment he was going to push me away and I felt my heart break a little at the thought.

Just as quickly as the thought came and went, he had my upper arm in a crushing grip. I struggled not to whimper at the sudden pain, continued rubbing his neck and back. After a moment he started to release slightly, I could hear him taking shallow breaths again and hoped he had maybe slipped into the dubious comfort of unconsciousness.

Turning my head slightly I could see he was definitely still conscious and, though the pain had eased some, it was by no means gone. _Come on Sam, _I thought, _hurry the hell up!_

"Dean, I know it hurts, but you need to take slower, deeper breaths." He fixed me with a glare that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his frustration at not being able to control his own body. "Please Dean," I spoke gently, "you don't need to hyperventilate on top of everything else. Please try."

Again his eyes held mine and I breathed slowly and not too deeply, willing him to breathe with me. I ran my fingers through his soft spikey hair trying to soothe him. He did alright for a minute or two. Then I felt his body go rigid under my arms.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he loosed the most gut-wrenching, primal sound of agony and hopelessness I had ever heard. It froze me to the bone and my body forgot how to breathe.

Silence.

He was no longer trembling. He was not breathing. Oh gods I had lost him! My eyes welled with tears as I silently begged him to take a breath, open his eyes, do anything! I opened my mouth to beg him not to leave me, but no sound came out.

How was I going to tell Sam?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam or, no, not even Dean which makes me want to cry. If I did own them, they would still get along and not just tolerate one another. Plus, Dean may or may not be tied to my bed...so this is obviously set before the whole "Sam's gotta be growed up and evilified and we gotta make sure we break Dean into a million pieces inside" stuff.**

**WARNINGS!: **Mature readers only** Some language, blood, if you don't see a warning for it chances are you don't need one. **

He was curled in a ball, muscles stiff, jaw clenched tight. He still was not breathing and I wondered if he were having a seizure brought on by the trauma to his vital organs. I did the only thing I could think of.

I slapped his face.

I hated myself for doing it, even after he took a shuddering, gasping breath. Hitting an injured man just violated every fibre of my being. He had taken a breath, though. He was still alive.

My relief was short-lived.

He started to cough as soon as he had air. It was a harsh, wet, broken sound. Each brutal expulsion was followed by a desperate, sobbing gasp for air. I could hear the fluid rattling in his chest even before the blood started draining from his mouth again to pool with what had spilled at the beginning of this ordeal.

He had felt a couple of twinges an hour or two before and had not thought much of it. Life on the road leads to some interesting eateries. When the stabbing pain came, we knew he was in trouble. When he doubled over in agony and we had to help him onto the bed, Sam had grabbed the keys and headed for the Impala. He closed the door behind himself just in time to miss Dean vomiting blood. I had been thankful for that, Sam was already too frantic to be driving. There had been no alternative, though. I just hoped the morning would find them both still alive.

Now, no amount of vomiting would help him. He was drowning in his own blood. I wondered if Sam had found the priest, if he was at that moment trying to drag his secrets out of him somehow. I wondered if he were maybe still looking, unaware of his brother's serious distress.

Dean tried to draw a breath and gurgled, lungs so full he could get almost no air at all.

My stomach twisted in panic. He opened his eyes and looked into mine and all I saw was exhaustion and resignation. It was like a knife in my heart and I could not let that look linger in his eyes.

Not when I could save him, not even when I realized I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror again. I could save him, at least temporarily, but I would hate myself for the rest of my life for doing it.

I rolled him as far forward as I could, leaning his body over the edge of the bed. I tried to angle him without hurting him, hoping at least some of the blood would drain from his abused lungs before I did what I had to do next.

I could not break the curse without Sam's help, but I could heal him of the damage he had taken so far. He would start over at square one, giving Sam an extra bit of time in which to hunt this bastard.

Dean gasped for air, gagged as blood drained out his mouth and nose. He was shaking and in so much pain I had to stand and lift him back onto the bed. He had no strength to help.

He sounded a little better, his chest still rattled ominously with each breath. His eyes slid closed.

"Fuck." he wheezed. The first word he had uttered since the pain had taken his breath away.

"Dean, I need you to look at me please." He grunted and turned his head toward me, but those brilliant green eyes stayed locked behind heavy lids.

He was pale as death, his freckles standing in sharp contrast to his bloodless face.

"Dean, please, open your eyes for me." I tried more firmly. "Don't make me slap you again." I cringed at the words leaving my mouth, but I did not have time to be gentle. Not if I was going to try to save him. My reluctance to engage in the healing ritual had already nearly cost his life. Now that I had decided to follow through with it, I wanted to have it done and behind me as quickly as possible.

My harsh words had the desired effect. His lids fluttered open with a staggering effort on his part. I could see his body tense, as if it took every muscle just to shove his lids open. It took an extra minute for his eyes to focus and find me. Our eyes met finally and I let him see the remorse in mine for being so harsh. The corners of his mouth twitched.

He was trying to smile at me.

"I need you to listen and really hear what I am saying." He nodded. "I can't break the curse, but I can heal the damage and take away your pain in the process, at least temporarily." His eyes widened as he tried to drag in enough air for questions. "No time to explain, but I need you to know my methods are...unusual. And it is not by my choice. I need for you to trust me right now and I will answer questions after we break this damn curse."

I dropped all my masks and protective walls, let my eyes show him my sincerity, my desire to heal him, to take away his suffering the only way I knew how.

Whether he saw something that reassured him or he was just desperate to end the pain, I did not know, but he dropped his barriers too and all I saw in his eyes was a plea.

_Help me._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sam or Dean, but that's just because Dean hasn't met me yet. Set before the rift formed between the brothers. They're still brothers in my stories, I refuse to write them any other way.**

**WARNINGS!: **Mature readers only** Some language, blood, sexual content, NO WINCEST, if you don't see a warning for it chances are you don't need one. This story was born as a result of my need to work through one of my writing issues, one that keeps me from writing freely. This is where the story starts to get challenging for me to write, so go easy on me please. :-) Also, as promised, the identity of the narrator will be revealed.**

I took a deep breath and looked away, loathing myself and angry at the situation that was forcing me to do what I was about to do.

I knew how it would look to him. I knew how it felt for me. Despite that, the only other alternative I could see was to let him die and that was so not happening on my watch. Even without the threat of Sam's spirit being irreparably shattered, I had been traveling with these two incredible men long enough for them to find the weakest crack in my barricaded heart and they both climbed inside.

Not to mention the fact that they had saved my life. (*)

I rolled him over onto his back. I carefully propped his shoulders up on pillows and hoped his lungs had cleared enough to not drown him before I could finish. With a final look into his eyes, one last confirmation of his cooperation, I climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. His eyes flicked slightly wider and I tried to ignore it as I settled partially onto him, trying not to put too much pressure on his tortured stomach.

I reached back to unhook my bra in order to free my movements for what was to come and a cold stab of uncertainty hit the pit of my stomach. Not wanting to waste time, I decided to drag the restricting item through the sleeve of my shirt.

"Ren." I flinched at the gurgle in his chest and rawness in his voice as he spoke the nickname they had given me.

My clan had named me Serendipity when they first accepted me and I had always loved and hated the name. It had not taken Sam and Dean long to name me again as _they_ had accepted me.

I realized I was hanging my head as I moved, staring at a spot on the bedspread somewhere to the right of his hip below me. My eyes flicked up beyond where his hands were fisted into his sweat-soaked black t-shirt clenching it against his suffering, to look into his eyes again.

Despite his pain and fear, he had seen my uncertainty. My shame. He looked into my eyes and, though I was looking for accusation or wariness, all I saw was trust and acceptance. And hope. He did not know what I was about to do, he did not know how I was going to try to help him, and he did not care. His face creased with pain, struggling to breathe, staring down death itself, _he_ was trying to comfort _me_. He was letting me see the hope I had given him. I had thought it impossible, but somewhere along the way I had been gifted with his trust.

I clenched my teeth. No more whining, no more self-abuse. Help him, dammit.

It occurred to me as I tossed my bra aside that this would be easier without his jeans as well. I lifted myself completely off of him, reached down between my legs and undid his belt. I took a deep breath as I undid the button and unzipped his jeans. He trusted me and I had to make sure I got this right. If I was fretting over every little thing, I was guaranteed to fail. No more distraction, head in the game girl.

I slid back over him and off the bed, gently but quickly dragging his faded jeans over his hips and down his long legs making sure his black boxer-briefs stayed in place. He was so exhausted he couldn't even help, his body shuddered under my hands as another wave of pain hit him. I heard him bite back a groan as his abused body tensed against it.

As I pulled his jeans over his bare feet I looked up at his face, his eyes were open but he was struggling. He tried to draw his knees back up, but I put my hands on his thighs and gently prevented him from moving them. His eyes squeezed shut and he drew a shivering breath and nodded, a tiny movement of his head.

I climbed back up onto the bed and straddled his hips again as quickly and carefully as I could.

"Dean, I need for you to take my hands and place them where the worst of the pain is." His eyes opened and he looked at me for half a second, processing what I had said. I knew after so much time spent huddling in on himself that his arms and hands must have been nearly locked up with muscle cramps he could no longer feel, overshadowed by the pain in his torso.

I reached out and gently took his large hands in my smaller ones. With trembling hands, he placed mine as near as he could to where the most severe pain was. My right hand now lay palm down on his stomach, just above his navel, my left was curled around his ribs higher up on his right. I was leaned slightly forward, still trying not to put too much pressure on him.

Closing my eyes I focused in on his heartbeat, fluttery and erratic with stress and exertion. I reached down into that piece of me that allowed me to both feel and fix the hurts of others, the healing portion dusty with disuse. Surprisingly fast, I felt it trickle out through my hands into him like miniscule jolts of electricity. The warmth began to spread between us, and I focused first on leveling out his heartbeat.

As it calmed and beat more regularly, falling into cadence with mine, I switched my focus to his pain. I opened myself up to it, reached into him and found the worst of his suffering. I took a deep breath and drew it up, out, through my hands, up my arms, into myself.

The pain slid home inside my body and I struggled not to vomit, curling around myself and trying to keep my breathing even. It hurt so bad my vision left me momentarily and I struggled not to show my distress to him. I was afraid he would make me stop. I knew he would allow himself to die before inflicting harm on someone.

Gods, I did not know how he took it as long as he did. It had only been a few seconds and I was already wishing for a bullet in my head. I had not even taken all of it away from him, needing to leave enough of myself open to concentrate on the ritual. I felt him take a shallow quivering breath beneath me, it helped to clear my head some. I had taken his worst pain into myself, but he was not out of the woods yet. His body was still badly damaged inside, the bleeding severe.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, forcing myself to straighten again. His brows were drawn up in amazement. Arching my back slightly, I ghosted my pelvis over his sensitive groin. I was rewarded with a tiny gasp, a momentary fluttering of his eyelids. I repeated the motion and he began to harden against me. I allowed myself one moment of guilt as I forced his body to betray him once again. I nodded in response to the question in his eyes, a question that was quickly replaced with something Dean never doubted. I dragged my pelvis against his a bit more firmly on the third pass, and his hands left mine to slide up my legs to my hips.

**A/N Okay, I am sure I am going to catch some flak for this, but I need to work through it so here we are.**

*** Refers to a story still in progress, the meeting of Dean, Sam and our lovely heroine Ren. Since this is up first, though, I will answer whatever questions I can without giving away that plot since that will likely be the next post.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: Sexual situation, blood, language - you are looking at a writer's attempt to overcome her writing issues. Maybe you should just run away. :-)**

**Disclaimer: Sick of saying it, it depresses me.**

I left my hand on his stomach and reached forward with my other hand to stroke his cheek with my fingers. His skin was cool still, but not as cold as I had feared. I reached a little farther and whisped the backs of my fingers across his forehead, over his temple and down his cheek to his jaw. As I dragged my pelvis along his hard length again I looked into his eyes.

"I'm sorry Dean. I will do whatever I have to do to heal you and buy Sam some more time." I had not been able to explain to him the risks, I knew he would be angry when he found out. But there was no way I was going to stop, and I felt the need to apologize. Not for trying to help him, but for what he would be blind-sided by later.

He gave me a smile and it was all Dean Winchester - the smile that bedded 1,000 women. Sexy and impish, hinting at child-like innocence but breathtakingly masculine. "Never had a...woman 'pologize...for havin'er way...with me before." Still struggling for breath, but his weary eyes sparkled as he teased and just like that the guilt slid away again.

He gave himself over to the experience as though we were not clothes-fucking like a couple of high-school kids behind the bleachers. I had done my best to divide his pain between us so we could both try to focus past that to the pleasure of the moment.

He was weak with pain and blood loss, but his big hands were firm at my hips. He tried to make up for his immobility by using the strength in those hands to ease my burden of doing all the work. I had always suspected he was a considerate lover.

As I rocked along his length I allowed my hands to roam his muscular body. I wanted to touch him, to feel his muscles roll and flex under my hands, but I also wanted to coax some of the tension and pain out of him.

Starting with his stomach, I used my palms and fingertips to warm and knead the knotted tissue. He grunted, took a shuddering breath and moaned softly with pleasure. Green eyes looked out at me from under heavy lids. His tongue snaked out and dragged along his lower lip, drew it in between his teeth and bit down on it.

Keeping a steady rhythm with our hips, I ran my hands along his ribcage. My thumbs and fingers danced between each rib. He arched his back slightly to allow me greater access to the intercostals, which also added delicious pressure to each stroke along his shaft. His lip slid, wet and shining, from between his teeth with a gasp.

He shivered beneath me and I could feel the warmth building between us. My hands roamed higher to the rise of his smooth pectorals, they rolled and twitched with each shift of his hands on my hips. I could feel each shallow breath, the occasional hitch in his chest as he struggled.

At the peak of my next upstroke, his hands shifted from my hips to my ribcage and he drew me in for a kiss. Startled, it took me a moment to respond to his tongue as it teased along my lips.

I opened my mouth and our tongues began an intricate dance, alternating spins and twirls. Each mapping the other's mouth as if committing it to memory forever. I immediately tasted the sweet copper tang of his blood where it had passed through his mouth, where it still sat not far from the surface.

The part of me that was more animal than human sat herself up and took notice. Without hesitation, I drew on the raw power that allows me to shift forms. Altering your shape and physical makeup is catastrophically hard on the body and requires a phenomenal amount of energy to accomplish. Sex would open the door, would cast the healing spell, but every bit I could harness would heal him that much more.

I could feel that delicious tension building and I opened myself to it, my own breath hitching in my chest.

I heard him whimper against my lips and I shuddered as it nearly sent me crashing over the edge. But not yet.

The energy building between us needed to be gathered up, drawn in, altered from a wild chaotic hurricane to a laser-precise surgical tool.

Cupping his stubbly cheeks I nibbled gently on his full bottom lip before pulling myself away. I ran my hands along his firm pecs, down his ribcage that was struggling for breath to his trembling stomach muscles.

I put my hands back to where he had placed them at the beginning and reached down inside myself again, down to where the part of me that could heal was filling up. I drew in every bit of that warm, crackling sexual energy. Drank it down deep and mixed it with the animal tension that always swam just beneath the surface of my being.

He gripped my hips again and I could feel he was close, knew I was tip-toeing back to the edge of the cliff as well even though my focus had momentarily been elsewhere. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his eyes shining with need.

He needed the eye contact, craved the intimacy it provided. He always pretended sex was meaningless, but it was the most open he allowed himself to be with someone. I looked deep into his eyes and could give him no less in return.

His hands guided me from base to tip one final time and I watched him drop over the edge into the abyss calling my name softly, his eyes never straying from mine as his stomach contracted lifting his shoulders off the pillows.

He was so beautiful, so vulnerable and trusting in that moment I couldn't help but let myself be swept along with him. The sound of his name on my lips was a promise.

As we crested together, I grabbed the peak of our climax and dragged it down into myself, threw it along my arms and out my hands into him. As I looked into his eyes, I could feel his body mending beneath my hands. Starting with the points that were hurting him the most, I ran my hands along his skin once again. This time, though, I was not massaging away surface hurts. I was pouring our combined energy into his broken body, piecing it back together bit by bit.

When either of us would twitch with an aftershock, I would gather that up as well. I was open to him completely, could feel all of his injuries and I was determined to make him whole again. I used every bit of the power that had swirled and crashed through the room, I used every last bit of energy I had within me.

I held his gaze as the pain melted away, as his breathing eased back to normal, as his headache stopped trying to split his brain in two, as amazement and wonder filled the gaps where pain and despair had sat so recently.

I could not so easily replace the blood he had lost, so he was still ghostly white but damn if he didn't look better anyway. As his lips twisted up into a smirk, I gently closed the gateways between us. I could feel myself starting to crash after working such an intense bit of magic.

I also may have parted with a little too much of my own energy.

Never breaking eye contact, I tried to swing my leg over so I could sit on the bed alongside him. Instead, I found myself dropping bonelessly toward the bedspread as my vision tunneled into blackness. A strong arm caught me across the front of my shoulders before I could face-plant the bedspread. Dean pulled me close laying my head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around me as he pulled my arm across his stomach.

My last conscious thought as Dean yanked the bedspread over us was _please hurry Sam_.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N One more chapter I figure - because if everyone isn't peeved at me after this one, I might be able to draw you all in for one more. Two might be pushing my luck.**

**A/N 2 Minor update, teeny thing. Yes, already.  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, we would not be subjected to the misery that is this season. While I realize we can never have season 1 or 2 back, if this is going to be the last season you bastiches could at least let us have the BROTHERS back - let them at least TRY to rebuild their relationship.**

I swam most of the way to consciousness once, I had no idea how much time had passed. My guess was that it had not been long since I _could_ still wake up. I listened, still no Sam. My estimation of how much time had passed seemed to be reinforced by the fact that Dean was still sleeping snugged tight to me. Or I guess, more accurately, with me snugged to him like an oversized teddy bear. He snored softly and after so many nights sleeping in the same room I knew that meant he was thoroughly exhausted. Either the pain had not returned yet, or it had not yet gotten severe enough to wake him.

Or maybe Sam had found the bastard.

Taking a few deep breaths I gathered up what strength I had left. I had enjoyed traveling and hunting with these men, but I was under no delusions. After what had happened, how could things not be odd now? I hated the thought of moving on, but the thought of straining my friendship with the brothers was enough incentive. If I survived the next couple of days, I would have to go my own way as soon as I was able. I did not figure he would appreciate waking up with me in his arms any more than he would waking that way with his brother.

To me, what we had done was done in order to save his life, but I was well aware of the fact that there are so many who would not see it that way. He had been compliant at the time, but I was not positive he would not find himself a case of buyer's remorse.

My left hand was still on his stomach with his hand on top. I tried to gently pry my hand away from his flat belly. The second I started to slide my hand his closed around mine like a vice. His arm tensed around my back and he fidgeted slightly before drifting off again without fully waking. Okay, I could work with that. If I could get up and make my way to the floor between the beds, he could keep the damn wrist.

My other arm was flat on the bed running along next to my body. I started to slowly bend my arm, if I could get up onto my elbow I could maybe get slid back some and move around him onto the floor.

At least that was the plan.

As I tried to lift my body in order to bring my arm under me, his hand moved from my hip to my shoulder.

It was like molten lava against my skin. I wanted to cry out with the pain of overwrought nerve endings brought to wretched life, but whatever energy I had left was fast waning. Hell, I had not even had the strength yet to open my damn eyes. Maybe the plan to move had been a bit overly ambitious.

He rubbed his big warm hand gently along my upper arm. "God, you're freezing," he murmured, pulling me closer. His hand left my arm, I felt his palm on my forehead and he shivered beside me. He wrapped both arms around me for a second, giving me a squeeze as he slid one hand up under the hem of my shirt. His hand was like fire on my low back. I could hear the alarm in his tone when he whispered, "Damn, you're an ice cube. Don't move," as he slid his arm out from underneath me and moved off the bed.

I wanted to say something, but I just could not piece together what I needed to do to make it happen. The thought occurred to me that I should be frightened by all of this, but I just could not muster it up. Figuring the sleeping situation was taken care of at least, I let myself start to slide back down the dark tunnel underneath me.

Less than a second later, though, he was back - a little shaky and still half asleep. Poor guy had been through the ringer, the last thing he needed was to be taking care of my uncooperative carcass. I felt heavy blankets settle over me, and then he was back on the bed behind me. As he slid his long body under the covers along my back I tried to tell him he didn't have to, but what came out (to my horror) was just a quiet whimper.

" 'S'ok, you're okay, you need to rest," he soothed as he carefully pulled me tight against his chest, sharing body heat. Once again his big hand started rubbing my chilled skin. I wanted to reach out and slap him, chastise him for being concerned about _me_ when _he_ was the one who nearly died.

I was starting to feel warm, though. Warm and safe - and beyond exhausted. The darkness had me before I could draw another breath. As the real world zippered closed behind me, I thought I heard a door close.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N This should wrap it up everyone. Thanks so much for all the feedback, and for all of you reading and not reviewing, thanks go out to you as well! Isabel - What a wonderful thing to say, thank you so much! I am glad you have enjoyed the story so far! lolzinthestarz - Thank you! I'd officiate the wedding ceremony but I'm not ordained yet. -=laugh=- I'm glad you liked it as well, and thank you for your comment on the emotions - I worked hard on giving them importance without letting them overshadow the real story. And now, back to it!**

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I could hear voices. I knew I should want to go towards them, but I was so damn tired. I felt as though I had not slept in a year. I started to let go, let myself slip back into oblivion but a raised voice cut through the fog.

"..._healed_ you?"

"Yeah Sammy, she _healed_ me. Said she couldn't break the spell, but she could heal the damage that had been done, give you more time."

I tried to move, open my eyes, hell even change my breathing pattern so they would know I was awake, if not entirely alert. Nothing. It was like I was paralyzed, trapped inside my own body. I remembered stories of healers dying because they could not break out of the stupor that engulfed them after giving too much of themselves during a healing.

In one case a telepath had been brought in to try to ease the suffering of the healer. The healer had died screaming inside her own mind. She took the telepath with her. I turned my attention back outside my own thoughts, maybe if I tried harder.

"...any components or anything?" Sam was asking Dean.

"No, no components, she just cast the spell on me and I felt better."

"So she just spoke the words to a spell and that was it?"

I felt Dean's arms curl around and pull me closer, for the first time becoming aware that he was still snugged around my body. Fuck. Dean was _cuddling_ in front of his _brother_. I did not have to tap into my empathic abilities to know what that meant.

He thought I was dying.

"No, it wasn't really like that. There were no words she just..." he wrapped his arms a little further around and crossed them in front of me in a protective gesture, I realized. "She just waggled her arms or something and I felt better as she did it."

Son of a bitch.

He was afraid his brother would think less of me if he knew what had happened. His body language and tone of voice practically screamed it aloud. Covered by the blankets, Sam would not have seen the embrace. I knew it for what it was, though, and vowed if I lived through it I was going to seriously kick his ass into a higher self-esteem single-handedly if I had to.

"Crap. How long has she been out?" Sam had a tone of urgency in his voice and I knew that he knew. Of course he did. The guy has more knowledge and tidbits tucked away inside that head of his than most people learn in a lifetime. Years of researching and a well-above-average intelligence make for a frightening combination sometimes.

It made me wonder when they had encountered another healer, though. I would have to remember to ask if I found my way out of this.

Dean picked up on the tone, I felt him tense around me. "I dunno Sam, I was a little out of it, what's going on?"

"Shit Dean. If she didn't use any components, there's not many other ways it could have been done. She's out cold," I really wished I could have let them know I wasn't out as cold as they thought, it may have eased their minds, "how's her body temperature? Did she seem shocky at all afterwards? What happened, exactly?"

Dean took a deep breath, let it out slowly. I knew he was gauging what and how much he should tell, his arms still crossed in front of me blocking me from his brother.

"She was kneeling on the bed when she did it. She had told me that - " I felt his body jerk suddenly and he very nearly crushed me as his arms reflexively tensed, squeezing me tight against his chest. I had a spike of panic thinking his pain had come back before he yelled in my ear, "Son of a _bitch!_ She _knew_ Sammy! She _knew_ what was going to happen!" I could hear the anger starting to build in his voice and wondered if he was going to ease his grip up to let me breathe at any point soon.

Goddamn I wished I could _say_ something.

"What do you mean she knew? What happened Dean?"

His grip eased some as he took a couple of steadying breaths, "She knew, she told me she was sorry she couldn't explain everything that was going to happen. She said she was sorry, that she would do whatever she had to do to heal me and buy you more time. I thought she was apologizing for...something else." There was the slightest hitch as he glossed over the truth, but if Sam heard it he didn't let on. "When she finished the spell, she sat there for a second and then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she passed out. She's been out ever since. I got up and got the blankets off your bed at some point because she was a friggin' icicle. I've been trying to warm her up ever since."

"Shit. She must have used her own," Sam fumbled for an appropriate word, "energy, I guess. As New-Agey as that sounds, I don't really have a better word for it. She essentially hacked off a piece of whatever it is that keeps her alive and shoved it into you by the sounds. Material components would have allowed her to - "

"What the hell does that _mean_ Sammy?" Dean cut in. Ever the patient one. "Is she dying?"

I didn't hear the answer, I had been struggling to communicate somehow and just had nothing left to give. This time, the void swallowed me up without warning.

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That was the longest I managed to dig my way out for awhile, I had brief snatches of quiet conversations, television shows, music. I had no idea how much time had passed. All I knew was each time I would come around there was someone next to me. Whether it was just overnight or days had passed and the brothers were swapping shifts, I had no idea. I could not manage to pull my thoughts together enough to figure it out, could not find it in myself to care.

Eventually, I heard my name being called. More than that, I _felt_ it. Dean's deep voice quiet in my ear, my name rumbling through his chest against my back. The sensation of my name vibrating through someone else's body into my own was like a homing beacon for my consciousness to cling to.

"Ren? Come on Ren, you've got to be in there somewhere. You can't hide from me forever you know. I mean, I've heard of not calling someone back but this is ridiculous. I should have known you wouldn't respect me in the morning." He was trying to joke, but I could hear the thread of worry in his voice. His tone was too tight, strained, and his arms were crossed protectively in front of me again. "You often take advantage of dying men?" He dropped his forehead to the back of my head, sighed against my neck.

And that was it. The guilt that had consumed me at the start of all this came rushing back over me. Because his words rang true to me, I had felt like I was taking advantage of him somehow. Guilt and anger at myself were the stepping stones out of the nothingness I had been mired in, the vibration of his gravelly voice against my back was the rope I held onto for the climb.

"D...didn't mean...t...take...'vantage..." Damn, that wasn't how it had sounded in my head.

He gasped, his head snapping up. He rolled me onto my back and I could feel him leaned over me, though I couldn't yet find the strength to open my eyes. I felt his hand cup my cheek. "Ren?"

I swallowed hard, the sudden movement making the bed spin nauseatingly. With that as my incentive, I shoved my eyelids open a couple millimeters. "Sorry," I managed to say, and my voice sounded awful.

"Ren, you saved my life."

"No...Sam...priest..." I decided I was going to have to learn sign language for instances like this. Except I wasn't sure at that point whether I could move my hands either.

"Ren," his tone demanded my undivided attention and I slid my lidded gaze from the ceiling to his eyes, "_you_ saved my _life_." I swallowed again and nodded. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will take you out and shoot you."

I huffed out a laugh, the best I could do under the circumstances.

"You think I'm kidding. I have silver bullets you know."

I smiled as I felt myself drift off again, hoping the next time I woke it wouldn't be quite so hard to find my way back to the outside world. When I did, I'd be sure to inform Mr. Dean Winchester that I did not _need_ silver bullets to shoot _him_ in the ass. I needed to somehow convince him he was worth every bit of what I had done.

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**And that's it! Thank you again for reading!**


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